A Sense of Something Unidentifiable
by ILLK
Summary: A small reflective piece on Webb's part


A Sense of Something Unidentifiable

Title: A Sense of Something Unidentitifiable  
Author: Sherry Chen  
E-mail: [junruichen@aol.com][1]  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: Just a small reflective piece.

"Damn it!" he cursed as a bullet whizzed passed an ear, missing him only by an inch. He raised his own gun and carefully aimed for the man, or woman, he wasn't sure which. His shot was a bit off mark and the other wasted no time setting up for his or her next shot. Clay decided to take a run of it, he didn't have anything to lose. His backup were all dead and he was practically cornered in the dark, cluttered warehouse he was in.

Clay crouched down, hiding behind a large wooden crate, listening and carefully observing his surroundings for any escape. There was a stairwell off to the side of the building, leading somewhere. //Probably to the roof,// he surmised, dismissing it as it would lead to a very cornered situation, most likely more so than the one he was in now.

A bright neon green sign, advertising "exit" was directly in front of him, and his hopes flared as he realized that this could mean possible escape. But that hope quickly died as he remembered that the other person shooting at him was also, directly in front of him.

"Damn it!" he cursed again. 

A faint click was heard off to the distance. The shooter was out of bullets. Clay quickly dashed from his hiding spot, improvising as he went; knowing there was no more time for plans or planning. He might not get a chance to leave relatively unscathed; his one chance of escape was here.

He raised his gun, preparing to shoot the other as he ran, but the warehouse was silent. Not a single sound could be heard, except for Clay's breathing in short, puffy gasps. He slowed to a stop, wondering what had happened. Carefully, he scanned the large room he was in, still suspicious and ever so cautious, just in case the other was lurking somewhere, ready to take a shot.

He walked over to the last position he had seen the shooter at, also behind a stack of large boxes. As he rounded the corner, his gun was out in front of him, ready to shoot. He encountered no one. His eyes narrowed, and his gaze was drawn towards the other side of the boxes, a pair of black boots peeking out. 

For the third time that night he cursed again. He was quickly beside the man, and now he was sure it was a man, and he wearily took his pulse. He was dead. Clay sighed, another death. He hung his head in resignation, his gun forgotten in his hand.

Then, he stiffened, as if just suddenly remembering he was most likely still not alone. He decided to take no chances, sprinting for the exit. It was stupid, he knew. The killer could have shot him down like a pig; his body unhindered of any obstacles would make an easy target. But somehow, luck was on his side. He made it to the exit, and he was out.

He had made it to his car okay, it was hidden behind several overgrown bushes that grew near the building, and as he drove towards his hotel, he wondered who had helped him, and why he had done such a thing. As far as he knew, all of his men were killed, and he hadn't bothered to involve the local authorities on this matter. But then again, if they had been there, they would have at least alerted him, not disappearing into the darkness in which they came. 

He mused on how he could have gotten in - he was sure the warehouse was empty, save himself and the now dead man. //How did he get in without letting either of us know?// A deep sense of uneasiness was beginning to form as he pondered on the question. Lost deep in thought, he had almost missed his exit, but he quickly maneuvered the car to make the turn.

He shook his head, chastising himself for being so absentminded.

The road he had turned on was fairly long and completely deserted, as it was four am in the morning. And he allowed himself to wander; once more sinking into an abyss he didn't seem to be able on controlling.

There was still the matter on why the other had done as he did. Maybe he was sent by the high-ups to accompany him, without letting his know beforehand. Or perhaps he had something against the dead man and wanted to act upon it. Either way, he was grateful to him, even though his very presence was going to make things hard for him in the next few days.

Now he had to find the other, no matter what. Ferreting him out, just to make sure he was on the good side - namely his side. He had to figure what he knows and how much does he know. He'll have to make the decision to terminate him if he was a risk to him or The Company.

A deep sigh of regret somehow wormed its' way out and Clay tiredly accept things as they were. It wasn't his place to question his job. No, his job was to do his job, and to do it well, never betraying his country or his people. 

His car turned into the hotel he was currently staying at, and he quickly parked the car. As he hurried through the hotel lobby, ignoring the bewildered expressions gracing the faces of the late night shift. He wondered what a sight he was making, his suit wrinkled and shriveled, his hair all in a disarray, and his whole body looking as if he had been rolling in soot for the past hour or so. Tired and jaded eyes hidden by a thin mask designed to keep others out and unaware. But in his current form, he was too despondent to keep it up.

He slowly climbed onto the elevator and punched in the number of his floor, his body on auto-pilot.

Somehow he got himself into his hotel room, and got himself into he shower. Some time between the time he was under the hot blasts of water and the time his head fell onto the pillow, he had came to a decision, one of which he knew would someday come back to haunt him. 

He'll tell them he had killed the man, allowing his savior escape. Maybe it'll prove to be good, that the man was only trying to help him, or if he had no idea why Clay was trying so hard to kill him.

The sun was just about making its' appearance when Clay finally fell asleep, and with the stunning streaks making their way across the sky, Clay finally felt a sense of something unidentifiable, but had no time to examine it, before he fell asleep.

[BACK][2]

   [1]: mailto:junruichen@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.angelfire.com/or2/sherryillk/jag.htm



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